I laughed. Couldn’t help it. “Mr. Sterling, I don’t have any qualifications. I barely graduated high school.”
“You have something better than qualifications. You have understanding.” He pulled out a checkbook. “Name your price.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“Everyone wants money.”
“I want my daughter’s insulin. I want to stop working seventy hours a week. But I don’t want to be bought.” I stood up. “Your daughter spoke tonight because I wasn’t trying to win ten million dollars. I was trying to help a scared kid. The second you pay me, it becomes a transaction.”
Richard stared at me. “Then what do you want?”
“I want Amelia to be okay. For real. Not just talking, but actually healing.”
“How do I make that happen?”
“You stop treating her like a problem to solve.”
The next day, Richard called me. “Victoria is threatening to sue for custody. She’s claiming I’m unfit because I let ‘unqualified staff’ interact with Amelia.”
“That’s insane.”
“She’s hiring lawyers. Good ones.” His voice was strained. “I need to know—will you testify? Tell them what you told me last night?”
“About what?”
“About trauma. About selective mutism. About how healing actually works.”